


The Produce Aisle

by Afflitto



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Prumano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/Afflitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lovino picks up a little more than produce at the grocery store. Prumano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Produce Aisle

**Author's Note:**

> My fill-in secret santa for Hetaliamerica on tumblr. The prompt was a human AU/meeting for the first time with an overprotective Antonio. I figure Lovino often gets into trouble harassing people in the store, but Gilbert finds it oddly charming (secretly). ANyhow, I hope you like it and I'm sorry that it's late!!

It started in the produce aisle.

Lovino Vargas largely relied on his own garden for his fruits and vegetables, but he was in Berlin and his garden in Italy.  Thus, he stood weighing a grapefruit in either hand, scowling down at the cart where hundreds more piled into haphazard slopes.  A puff of air lifted curly bangs up from his forehead.  He rolled his eyes with a grumble.

“Lovi, I’m going to go ahead and pick up some fish, okay?”  Antonio stood at the end of the aisle, a basket hanging from the crook of one arm and a cheery smile to rival his bright eyes.  Curly brown hair wreathed a disheveled mess.

Lovino shrugged.  “It’s not like Feli doesn’t have food at his apartment, you know.”

“I know—but it’s always polite to bring something extra when visiting.”  Antonio darted off.

“This fucking sucks,” Lovino muttered, putting the grapefruit back.  “Everyone knows that this shit tastes better homegrown.  The ever loving fuck.”

This Sunday was the kind of quiet that came from morning light dusting windows and seeping in through curtains.  The market itself was dozy, music turned to a dull murmur, employees walking softly, roaming aisles before the daily crowd filtered in.  In the background, Lovino could hear the beep of a scanner.  The door shifted and a bell chimed.  A man entered.

Lovino feigned new interest in the grapefruit, but watched the man out of the corner of his eye.

Edges jagged and cheekbones sharp, he was a wild sort of handsome—red eyes a contrast to pale skin and a crop of white hair.  Tendons stood out on his forearms as he loaded up his basket with eggplant and spinach.  He did not walk so much as prowl with easy grace around the corner, deft fingers rifling through the bin of tomatoes as he lifted and sorted them.  A slight smirk lilted the corner of his mouth when he reached the grapefruit.  He was watching Lovino too.

“O-oi,” Lovino muttered, scooting down a few paces, suddenly very interested in the lettuce as his cheeks shot red.  “The fuck.”  He continued to grumble to himself like this until the man passed.

“The fuck yourself,” the man murmured as he walked by, one brow raised and that smirk pulling slightly wider.  He reached past Lovino to grab a couple of potatoes in one hand, and started arranging them in his basket.

Lips pursed, Lovino leaned against the bin and shook his head.  “Pick a better carbohydrate, bastard.”

The man blinked.  “H-hey.  Potatoes are the most versatile carbohydrate you can find—“  His voice grated into a guttural exclamation.

Lovino scoffed but followed him down to the grains and nut section.

“You following me?” the albino asked.

“No,” Lovino said.  “I just need pecans.”

“Uh huh.”  The man stopped to pluck a bag of walnuts off the shelf, but paused before he dropped it into his basket.  “What?  Not going to criticize my choice of nut?”

“Should I?” Lovino asked.  He reached beside the man’s head to grab the pecans he needed, but halted, inches from his face, captivated by the intensity of those red eyes.  “What the hell.  Those aren’t contacts.”

“Um…no?”  The man didn’t push him away, instead staring back into his own hazel eyes.  “You done invading my personal space or what?”

Lovino shoved away.  “I just needed my damn pecans—and I expected some punk bastard like you to be faking red eyes.  So I was investigating.  So fuckin what.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man said.  He turned toward the coffee.

“That’s a shitty choice,” Lovino said.

The man had a tin of coffee grounds in one hand, and paused, mouth agape.  “Coffee is coffee.”

“This is why you need my help,” Lovino muttered.  “You buy shitty carbs and shitty coffee.”

“I never asked for your opinion on my awesome life choices.  The hell are you anyway?”

“Some people just don’t know they need help,” Lovino said.  He snatched a bag of whole bean coffee from the shelf and dropped it in Gilbert’s basket instead.  “Just trust me on this.  And the name is Lovino.”

“Gilbert.”  He pressed his lips into a line, but cocked his head into a bemused stare.  “Is this some kind of godly punishment for playing video games then skipping church?  Because if so, I’ll go repent immediately.”

Lovino laughed, a soft chuckle, but his eyes grew wide and bright and the furrow vanished from his brow.  “Probably.”

The hairs stood up on the back of Gilbert’s neck and he stood dumbfounded, able to do little else than blink at that quiet, melodious sound.  He swallowed, the back of his throat suddenly dry.  “H-hey, what’s so funny?”  He pointed blankly at himself, mouth hanging open just so. 

Lovino shrugged, the moment lost, but grabbed Gilbert’s wrist and started to scrawl something down.

“If you’re drawing a dick—“  Damn, Gilbert didn’t care how many dicks he drew, if it meant he could hear that laugh again—

“What the fuck ever,” Lovino said.  “It’s my number.  I’m going to have dinner at your place tonight so I can criticize the rest of your choices and shit.”  There was a playful glint in his eye, though.

Gilbert blinked down at the numbers on his wrist.  “O-oh.  Well, yeah, I guess.”

“Good—“

A sudden arm hooked around Lovino’s neck and steered him toward the end of the aisle—nearly causing him to drop his basket.  There was Antonio, dragging him away, his voice a little too urgent.  “Who is that?” he whispered in his ear.

“Just a friend I met,” Lovino muttered back, half stooped though he allowed Antonio to lead him toward the register.  “The fuck, Antonio—“

“He’s too old for you.  Look at him.  I saw the way he was eying you too.  Probably some silver fox—“

“The fucking hell—I’m a damn adult, you bastard—“

Gilbert stood, their muffled argument ringing in his ears as he continued to stare at those digits.  He picked up his phone and entered them in, then dialed his brother, glancing up at Lovino’s retreating form.

“Hey Ludwig…I think I just got picked up at a grocery store.”

 


End file.
